Can I Get A Witness
by Chasing Rabbits
Summary: He may dress like a vamp kid still, but when Stan goes goth yet again Butters is willing to help cheer him up. And then Kenny has one of his worst ideas ever. Stutters; Bunny; Oneshot.


_**Warnings: Mentions of past self-harm; voyeurism**_

_****_**MargaretDelancy and I did another collaboration. She made some pretty gorgeous art for this that you'll be able to find on her Tumblr.**

* * *

Butters likes dressing this way.

It's odd to think that clothes and make-up can have such a profound effect on how he carries himself, but he feels the same way when he tries on the wigs in the theater prop room, or lets Bebe put mascara and lipstick on him. When he puts on his tight black jeans and studded belts, his too-tight Hot Topic t-shirts and his eyeliner, he can't help the sense of power that floods him to the core.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kenny asks as Butters touches himself up in the mirror. The staff bathrooms are surprisingly easy to break into (then again, with Kenny most rule-breaking comes surprisingly easily), and during class time they're usually safe to occupy.

"I'm pencilin' in my eyebrows," Butters returns, very matter-of-fact. "They're too light for my hair."

Butters still isn't through being grounded for dying his hair black last month (and fashioning it into a short little Mohawk on top of everything else) but he's made it blatantly clear that he doesn't care. He is, for the time being, ungroundable once more, and it feels good.

Especially when it's that kind of cavalier attitude that has him sneaking out of AP English for a nooner with notorious heterosexual, Kenny McCormick.

"'the fuck man, you gave yourself Michael Keaton eyebrows, here," he grabs the pencil from Butters and tilts his chin just so. "Bebe teach you how to do this?"

"Yeah," Butters feels his eyebrows pinch into a frown, though it's only momentary. Kenny soon licks the pad of his thumb and swipes them clean.

"She tell you you're not supposed to sketch?" his lips quirk up into a smile. He has a ring through the center of his lip, one that Butters has kissed and sucked on now dozens of times before, and one in his tongue that's legend both in the girl's locker rooms, and now in Butters' canon of sexual experiences.

"How do you know how to do it?" Butters' eyebrows pinch together, and Kenny tries to smooth them out again.

"I help my mom sometimes before she goes to work," Kenny supplies. "Sometimes she's too tired to do it and makes herself look confused."

Butters smiles at that, which makes Kenny smile back. He's still pink high in his cheeks, and if Butters squints he can see the light freckles just under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose.

"There," Kenny hands the pencil back and spins him to look at his reflection. "A pair of no-good heathens."

Butters sighs and rests his head on Kenny's shoulder. The pair of them really are a sight—not that the mirror shows the sprawling tattoos that cover Kenny's shoulder blades and biceps, nor do they show the oh-so trendy thin white lines that criss-cross up Butters' arms.

He fell into this look purely out of a yearning for acceptance, tried to stick to what his new friends were doing in the hopes that they would offer him safety and support.

He'd been thirteen then, and much stupider than he likes to believe now even, only four years later—he was never a fan of cutting himself to _feel _anyway. He felt just plenty on his own, and the moment he had to lie to Kenny so many years ago and say that his mom's cat scratched him was the moment he vowed to stop.

The bell breaks the silence, signifying the end of third period and the next five seconds during which they have the chance to haul ass out of the bathroom and pretend they were never there.

They don't meet up again until lunch, when Kenny drops by Butters' locker to return his Spanish notes.

"Ah, thank you kindly," Butters whips out the according notebook and tucks them back in the appropriate space. "They make sense an' everything?"

"Yep," Kenny nods. "I mean, I know Mackey only put me in that class so I could learn how to say 'would you like fries with that' in another language, but I'm pretty goddamned good at it."

"Que sorpresa," Butters snorts.

"Olé, motherfucker," Kenny returns.

They both find themselves laughing a little too close together to be platonic, so they back away at the exact moment that goth kid with the red bangs walks by and coughs, _"Fags!"_

Butters rolls his eyes, because Kenny looks about a second away from some issuing a wildly inappropriate retort, but it dies on his lips.

Following behind that goth kid is another—a frighteningly familiar messy mop of black hair shoved under a black and slightly darker black hat, a Robert Smith t-shirt stretched over his broad chest and a listless look under the puffed up dark circles under his eyes.

"Stan?" Kenny asks, but Stan doesn't answer. He acknowledges both Kenny and Butters with a glance, but that's about it before he disappears around the corner with that goth kid.

A few moments pass as the two of them stare blankly, before Kenny sighs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Every goddamned fucking time that idiot gets dumped, he has to go and start hanging out with those fuckwads again," he murmurs.

"At least it's just the two of 'em now," Butters offers. "Henrietta and what's-his-face with the cane graduated already."

Kenny shoots him a look that indicates he's decidedly less comforted by that statement than Butters thinks he should be. Butters rolls his eyes and shuts his locker, but before he can say anything, Kyle approaches and with a thoroughly un-amused look on his face. He raises an eyebrow and asks, "You seen _Raven_ at all today?"

"He just walked by," Kenny shakes his head and leans against the lockers. "He and Heidi were dating for two minutes, dude. He needs to learn how to deal with this shit."

"He needs a good kick in the ass," Kyle shakes his head.

"Maybe a good dick in the ass," Butters replies automatically, only to feel himself go bright red a second later when Kyle and Kenny both stare at him. "Dang, did I say that out loud?"

"He's not gay, Butters," Kyle reasons, still looking at him like he's got snails crawling out of his nostrils.

"You don't have to be gay to like getting it in the butt," Kenny shrugs. "People underestimate how much good a nice fuck can do for their psyche."

"I think if that were a possibility we wouldn't have Mr. Happy on our hands," Kyle folds his arms over his chest.

"He just needs someone who'll be nice to him is all," Butters considers.

"No girl's gonna be nice to him when he's dressed for a funeral," Kyle rolls his eyes. "Let alone fuck him."

"I'll do it," Butters shrugs, which only earns him a cacophony of boisterous laughter.

"Okay, yeah Butters," Kyle wheezes as he holds onto Kenny's shoulder for support. Butters mouth falls into a flat line as he looks from Kyle to Kenny, who appears to be stifling his laughter against the back of his hand.

"Just what the heck is so funny?" he demands.

"Dude," Kenny takes a breath. "It's a nice gesture, but if you get Stan to even look at your ass I'll eat my own dick."

Butters doesn't retaliate beyond giving him the finger and storming off.

**ooo**

So Butters isn't necessarily a master of seduction. He attempts to catch Stan's eye by wearing his tightest jeans, or tracing his lips with the eraser of his pencil when they're working on problems in Chemistry together, but the only thing that gets results is a simple, "How are you doing?"

Stan takes a drag off the end of his cigarette and shakes his head as he exhales, earring jingling softly.

"Life's such a piece of shit," he replies.

"Aw, come on now," Butters hugs his knees close to his chest. "So a girl broke up with you. Heck, it's not the end of the world."

"Yeah," Stan nods. "Instead of it being the end of the world, I get to live with this fucking useless shitty pain. Fan-fucking-tastic."

It's that kind of thing that worries Butters; he may dress funny, but he got away from the bad thoughts a long time ago. Sometimes it's easier to get away from bad thoughts when you're around people who don't have so many.

"I know it hurts," Butters says softly. "But it'll pass."

"Man, who asked you?" Stan snaps back. "This isn't your poser faggot bullshit pain, okay? This is real. Everything hurts."

Butters sighs and rests his chin on his knees, watching in silence as Stan finishes his cigarette. He doesn't smoke like Kenny, who does it just as easily as breathing. Every inhale makes Stan's eyes get a little more red, and if Butters listens closely he can hear him wheeze every time he breathes out.

"I'm sorry you're feelin' so down, Stan," Butters says when he stomps out his cigarette. Butters likes the smoky smell; he'll always associate it with Kenny, he thinks, but he likes it on Stan too.

"Just, like," Stan sniffs. "Why are girls hard?"

"Aw," Butters drapes an arm over Stan's shoulder and gives him a squeeze. "Everyone's hard, Stan. Not just girls."

"Even dudes?" Stan looks over at him, eyebrow quirked up on his forehead.

"Yeah," Butters smiles. Stan nods, as though he's pondering this good and hard, so Butters adds, "Don't worry. Maybe things'll get easier."

"And if they don't?" Stan asks, staring blankly at a crack in the pavement.

"Don't worry about it?" Butters just offers. "I don't know, Stan. I worry about you sometimes. I-I know I'm not great with words an' stuff, but the only other thing I really have to offer is my ass, so… I'm tryin'."

Butters laughs at his own joke (if one could call it that), but Stan doesn't. In fact, his cheeks turn red and he looks to be unable to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Are you kidding me?" he finally asks, and Butters feels his shoulders tense up.

"W-well, not necessarily," he stammers. "Sex always makes me feel better, a-and if you think it would help, I'd… well, I-I'd help."

Stan ducks out from under Butters' arm and leans forward on his knees. "Look, did someone put you up to this?" he asks.

"Wh—no," Butters frowns. "Stan, who would put me up to do anything?"

"Cartman?" Stan comes back almost immediately, and Butters hangs his head.

"Had that one right in your back pocket, didn't you?" he sighs. "Eric has no idea I'm here. No one does."

"Um, we do."

Stan and Butters both look over to where the two remaining goths stand smoking their cigarettes around their boom box. The little one isn't so little anymore, and towers over both Stan and that one with the red in his hair despite being so much younger than them.

"He's a fucking poser, Raven," says that one with the red in his hair.

"Yeah, fucking poser," the not-so-little one chimes in.

Stan just turns in close to Butters and whispers so softly that Butters can barely hear him, "Can we please go? These guys are really starting to piss me off."

Butters grins and rests his forehead against Stan's temple, "They're a little tedious, aren't they?"

Stan nods and pulls Butters up with him and through to the front of the school. Butters wants to ask Stan what they're doing, but he doesn't look like he's too keen on talking until they reach his car. It's not until Stan is sure that there's no one around that he asks, "You're not going to tell anyone, right?"

"Tell anyone what?" Butters frowns.

"I don't know," Stan grips the steering wheel. "That I might… that I like guys too?"

"Not my business to tell anyone, Stan," Butters points out. Stan nods, looking slightly more comforted, and lets out a breath. "Y'know, we don't have to do anything you don't wanna do. I'm fine just talking with you."

Stan answers this by pulling Butters in by the front of his shirt and clumsily pressing their mouths together. Stan's lips are pretty chapped, but he is by all measures a pretty good kisser.

A little desperate, but pretty good.

They haul ass back to Stan's, and while they don't talk, Butters does run his hand up and down Stan's leg just to tease him. Stan retaliates as soon as they park outside his house, unbuckling his seatbelt and launching himself across the gap between them. Butters ends up smushed uncomfortably against the door, but he laughs anyway because Stan is much more enthusiastic than Butters would have thought.

"When does your mom get home?" he asks when Stan pulls away. Stan checks his watch and smiles, "She's not off 'til six, we've got a couple hours."

Definitely, he gets brownie points for enthusiasm.

They practically trip over themselves rushing up to Stan's bedroom, and the moment Stan shuts and locks the door behind him he pulls Butters flush against him and kisses him deeply.

"Your ass looks incredible in those jeans," he breathes when he pulls back, brushing his fingertips over Butters' cheeks. His fingernails are slathered with thick black nail polish, and filled in with sharpie where it's chipped away.

"Please," Butters lets out a laugh and backs Stan toward the bed. "My ass is just incredible."

Kenny never fails to remind him whenever even the slightest opportunity presents itself, so it must be true; Kenny knows he doesn't have to resort to petty pandering to get into Butters' pants by now.

Stan's eyes go wide as he falls back onto the bed, sprawled out awkwardly like a newborn giraffe, and swallows the knot in his throat. Against the unbroken canvas of black, his eyes look even bluer than they are, and his skin much paler than it really is.

Butters pushes his hat off of his head and threads his fingers through Stan's shaggy, slightly greasy tresses.

"You done anything with boys before?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," Stan nods. "I mean, like, I've made out before."

"Mm," Butters hums and dips to kiss him. "Anything else?"

"Um," Stan shifts his gaze to the side, and Butters cocks his head.

"You can tell me," he coos. "I just wanna know so we don't get into anything you're not ready to do."

"I'm ready for whatever," Stan returns defensively. "I've, um," he mumbles the rest of the confession, and when Butters raises his eyebrows and shrugs, he rolls his eyes and repeats, "I've sucked a guy off before."

"Yeah?" Butters grins. "Did you like it?"

Stan lets out a little noise in the back of his throat and nods.

"You any good?" Butters asks through a smirk, and laughs when Stan manhandles him onto the bed and pins him. There really is nothing quite like a good man handling, and Stan has nice big manhandling arms.

"Are you questioning my dick-sucking abilities?" he asks, pinning Butters' shoulders with his big rectangular hands.

Butters just shrugs and says what he's said to Kenny before, "I'm just sayin', it's not as easy as everyone thinks."

"Oh yeah?" Stan challenges, and like that his fingers are all over Butters' fly, unbuttoning and unzipping and undoing until he has enough room to pull his pants and undies down over his hips.

He cannot believe this tactic has worked out in his favor so many times now.

Granted, Butters totally goaded Kenny into going down on a guy for the first time in his life, and Stan has apparently done this before. He leaves behind little trails of fire as his fingers trace lightly over Butters' stomach and hips; his eyes stay fixed on Butters' cock, though, which is getting harder and harder with every touch to his skin.

"Christ, Butters," Stan blinks. "You're… nice."

So Stan's not exactly a wordsmith, but Butters will take praise in whatever form it comes.

"Thanks," he smiles and reclines back on his elbows. "You can touch it, y'know."

Stan just shoots him a look before he runs his hands over the insides of Butters' thighs, stopping just short of where they meet. He looks remarkably un-frightened, which must mean that it's pure excitement that's tingeing his cheeks like that.

Just as Butters thinks he should say something, Stan dips to press the flat of his tongue just under the head of his cock, and Butters lets out a happy little noise instead. Before they get too carried away, he reaches down to tug at Stan's shirt.

"What?" Stan asks, and Butters rolls his eyes.

"Take off your shirt, dummy," he shoots back. When Stan's cheeks glow a deeper red, Butters tuts, "Come on, I've seen you without a shirt before, you don't have to be embarrassed."

"I'm not!" Stan snaps and whips his shirt off over his head.

Antiquated though the sentiment is, Stan is a total fox. He has one of those faces that would have been handsome no matter the time period, and has a nicely defined _everything_. His pecs, his stomach, his arms—Butters can see each and every muscle undulate under his golden skin, and it makes him all hot under his shirt.

So naturally he has to take it off, right?

"Goddamn, Butters," Stan chuckles. "Eager much?"

His look is devilish, a smirk and a certain light in his eyes that makes Butters' stomach flip flop in a weird way.

"Just suck my dick," Butters swats half-heartedly at Stan's head. He barely has time to giggle at Stan flipping him off before Stan takes him into his hand and gives him a sure, even stroke.

And then he sucks just the head of Butters' erection into his mouth and does something with his tongue that makes Butters go cross-eyed and let out an embarrassingly loud noise.

"Wow, that feels nice," he sighs as Stan's mouth slides down a little further. Kenny would have gagged by now, which makes Butters wonder just how many times Stan has actually done this before.

Stan's only retort is to suck harder and do that tongue thing again, and in turn Butters tosses his head and moans. As Stan works himself into a rhythm, Butters pushes himself up onto his elbows again to get a good look. The only sounds he can hear are Stan's lips sucking softly over him and the jingle of his earring as he bobs his head, and both make Butters' heart beat impossibly faster.

He tangles his hand in Stan's hair and bites back a whine, because just that gesture makes Stan groan around him and take him deeper into his mouth.

"Holy _fuck,_" Butters whimpers. He's answered with a loud thud that makes his heart jump up into his throat, and for a moment he thinks Mrs. Marsh must be home early.

But when he catches sight of the closet, he's met with an even more absurd discovery.

Kenny McCormick, notorious heterosexual and well-established pervert, is hiding in Stan Marsh's closet.

**ooo**

This is absolutely not how Kenny pictured his afternoon would go. He skipped the last half of school to go home and have a few quiet moments to himself while he could, smoked, and spent a good long while pondering the intricacies of his life.

Somewhere in there, he got it into his head that he should go over to Stan's and demand that they hang out until such time it was evident that Kenny had effectively pulled him out of his funk.

And because Stan wasn't home from school yet (and Kenny knew where he and Sharon kept their spare key), Kenny decided that the obvious thing to do was to hide in his closet and scare the living shit out of him.

In retrospect, it was an absolutely shit idea and he regretted it the moment he saw Butters come in the room.

The more and more his high wears off, he realizes that this is probably the worst idea he's ever had. He broke into his friend's house, for fuck's sake, and even if he wasn't in the middle of giving some pretty righteous-looking head, he probably would've yelled at Kenny anyway.

_This was such a fucking bad idea._

If he keeps quiet, maybe he can wait it out.

He'll probably never again be able to look either of them in the eye anyway.

Fuck, why can't he look away? It's not like he's never seen two guys go at each other before—he once walked in on a dude going down on his dealer and waited patiently while they finished—but this is different.

Butters and Stan don't know they're being watched. That shouldn't be as hot as it is, but Kenny can't help the way his body reacts to this kind of thing. Butters and Stan are two attractive guys, and Jesus Christ, who knew Stan was a pro at sucking dick?

He keeps it together for the most part, occasionally pausing to touch himself through his jeans, but he can't really move too much lest he be discovered.

Except when Butters tugs at Stan's hair, and Stan makes that noise, Kenny kind of loses his balance and smacks his head against the shelf behind him. That's when Butters catches him, and when Kenny is pretty sure he's about to get his ass kicked good and hard.

But then Butters just shoots him a cheeky grin and arches into Stan, and murmurs just loud enough for Kenny to hear, "Yeah, just like that, Stan. Suck my dick nice and good."

Oh.

Oh, that epic _ass_.

It seems to have a profound effect on Stan, though, and he works his mouth over Butters with renewed vigor. Butters is just coherent enough to stick his tongue out at Kenny before he smacks against the bed and fists both hands in Stan's hair.

Kenny is good and hard in his jeans now, and he figures this is about the only time he's ever going to get a chance to do this. Carefully, he undoes his fly and pulls his erection out just enough so he has room to stroke himself, nice and slow as he watches Butters' toes curl.

"I'm gonna come," Butters arches up again, and Kenny gives himself a squeeze. He loves watching Butters come, though he's never seen it quite like this before. Within a minute, the muscles in Butters' legs go taut as he tries to keep himself from thrusting up into Stan's mouth, and he lets out this strangled little cry that makes his cheeks turn red.

Kenny thinks he might come from just seeing that.

And when he realizes that Stan's swallowed every last bit of Butters' load, he doesn't know how he hasn't. His hand just sort of sits still on his dick, in complete and utter shock.

Just how many times _has_ Stan done this before?

Also, if he moves his hand he's going to have the orgasm of his life, he can tell, and he should not do that if Stan is no longer occupied.

If Stan turns around, Kenny is royally fucked.

But he doesn't.

Instead he crawls up on top of Butters and pins him down to the bed again, pausing just momentarily before he dips down to kiss him. Butters moans into it, tongue sliding easily into Stan's mouth, because Butters is the type of boy who likes tasting himself on other boys' tongues.

Kenny is about one finger twitch away from jizzing his entire fucking brain out of his body.

And as Stan sucks at a spot on Butters' neck, Butters palms him through his jeans and chances a look over at the closet. He catches Kenny's eye again and grins before murmuring in Stan's ear, again just loudly enough for Kenny to hear, "You wanna fuck me?"

**ooo**

Butters thinks for a moment, just a moment, that Stan might actually say no.

"Um," Stan sits up, erection thick and straining at the fabric of his pants. "I don't have, like, lube or anything."

Butters motions to his backpack, which sits against the door, "I keep lube and condoms in the front pocket."

Stan raises a thick eyebrow and asks, "Really?"

"Yeah," Butters nods. "Don't you remember scouts? _Be prepared_."

Stan laughs deliriously and rests their foreheads together, stroking his fingers over the fuzz on the side of Butters' head and through the thatch of hair on top of his head before bringing him into another kiss. People usually aren't so kissy with Butters, and that piled on top of his afterglow makes him feel all ooey-gooey inside.

He keeps a close eye on Kenny while he waits for Stan to come back. They stare at each other, and though Butters doesn't know exactly what the hell Kenny is doing in there, he can't deny that it makes him hot.

So, while Stan is rummaging in his bag, Butters slips off the bed and walks over to him on his knees. He comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his torso, slipping his hands down to undo the button on his pants. Stan doesn't seem to mind, just leans into the touch and sighs as Butters' hand wraps around him.

"God, you're gonna feel good inside me," he sighs and nips lightly at Stan's shoulder. "I can't wait."

Stan groans at that and before Butters knows it he's splayed out on Stan's floor, watching with an open mouth as Stan wriggles out of his pants and tosses them aside. He reaches for the lube, which is down by his legs with a few condoms, and slicks up his fingers.

Before Stan can ask what he's doing, he rolls over and reaches behind himself, teasing his fingers over his entrance before he slides one in.

"Holy fuck," Stan groans, and Butters grins. He slips in another finger, working efficiently at stretching himself.

It does help that he fingered himself when he jerked off in the shower this morning, but to say that he's done this before is an understatement to the highest degree.

He turns his head, trying to pretend he's stretching his neck but instead looking up at where Kenny still stands in the closet. He doesn't look for too long, just in case Stan has the brain power to be suspicious, and fingers himself until he hears Stan let out a desperate noise behind him.

He's even starting to get hard again.

"Stan," he breathes softly. "Stan please, c'mere and fuck me."

Stan doesn't need to be told twice. He tears into a condom and rolls it out over himself so fast that Butters is actually impressed.

"A little more lube," Butters reminds him when Stan takes his hips into his hands. Stan lets out an impatient noise, but he pauses to pour a generous amount over himself. He looks at Butters, lust clouding his puppy dog eyes, and asks, "Good?"

"Yeah," Butters replies, and bends to hide his face in his arms.

Stan presses into him a little too quickly, but Butters doesn't mind. He likes the deep stretch that comes with having another boy inside him. And Stan does seem to know that he needs to be careful, asking a simple, "All right?"

"Yeah," Butters nods and thrusts back against him, moaning as Stan sinks in all the way. They don't move for a few moments, and only start when Stan reaches around to stroke him and Butters keens, "God, just _go_, please."

Stan pulls all the way out and sinks back in slowly, which makes Butters whine.

_"Harder_."

Stan complies, despite the fact that it's definitely _not_ Butters who said that. Butters looks over at the closet, where he can just barely see Kenny shrug, and mouths, _"Are you fucking crazy?"_

He has half a mind to throw one of Stan's cleats at the closet, just out of spite, but that half a mind disappears as Stan drives into him harder and harder.

He can't quite get a grip on the carpet like he can on sheets, and his hands keep slipping and his knees rub against the rough fibers, but Stan hits the little spot inside him that makes his vision go black around the edges and somehow that makes it all worth it.

That's also definitely Kenny's fingernails scratching against the slats in the closet door, but Stan is keeps making enough of his own noises that he probably can't even hear that.

And for a moment Butters indulges himself in a little fantasy, wherein Kenny comes out and joins them, slides underneath Butters and lets Butters fuck him just as hard as Stan is fucking him.

"_Fuck_," he groans and thrusts back harder against Stan. He loses his hold on the carpet altogether then and ends up with his face on the floor and his ass up in the air, groaning obscenities whenever he gets tired of wordlessly whining.

Stan comes without warning, just reaches up to grab at Butters' arms as he rolls his hips erratically into him. His fingernails bite into Butters' skin, sending a sharp sting through him as he begs, _begs_ Stan to touch him.

He hears Kenny's strangled grunt half a second before he comes, and lets out a loud moan to drown out any noise Kenny might make.

Butters collapses when Stan pulls out of him, panting and red all over. He wants to sit up and pull Stan into a kiss, to tell him just how amazing that was, but all he can manage to do is give a thumbs-up when Stan asks, "Okay there, Leopold?"

"Um," Stan pants and rolls to his feet. "I gotta toss this and get some paper towels or something."

"Take your time," Butters waves him on, still face down on the floor. His hair is definitely matted down flat on his head by now, make up all sweated off, and he doesn't quite feel like having a tender moment with Stan while Kenny is still _right there_.

The moment Stan shuts the door softly behind him, Kenny bursts out of the closet, tucking his softening cock back into his pants as he frantically zips up.

"What the fuck, Kenny?" Butters whispers and smacks him on the calf.

"I promise, I will tell you all about my brilliant ideas later," he says shakily. "Hand me a tissue, I gotta clean up."

Butters snaps into clumsy action, grabbing the tissues from their place on the dresser and handing Kenny a few. Quickly, Kenny wipes up his hand and the back of Stan's closet door. He makes a mad dash for the window not a moment later and opens it. However, before he makes his escape, he gives buck naked Butters a once-over and states, "I think I might love you."

Butters retaliates by throwing a dirty sock at him, whispering, "Now's not the time, Kenny."

Kenny gives him a wink and like that he's gone.

Just in time, too, because not a second later Stan is back with a wad of damp paper towels and a bottle of Gatorade. He separates a paper towel and puts it over the stain Butters left on the carpet and hands the rest to Butters.

"Um, I don't know if you like… want to wipe up or whatever," he shrugs.

"Thanks," Butters accepts them. "You don't use washcloths or anything?"

"Uh," Stan grabs at the back of his neck, "My mom said if I ruin anymore towels she's making me pay for a whole new set."

Butters snorts and sits down against the edge of Stan's bed, forgetting for a moment what he's only just been doing, and lets out a pained, "Oh, fuck."

"Shit," Stan sits beside him. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Nah," Butters shakes his head and shifts. "I like it, honest. Plus, you needed that, I could tell."

Stan doesn't respond, just offers him the bottle of Gatorade, which Butters accepts gratefully and takes a generous swig.

"I do feel a lot better," Stan finally admits, and Butters raises the bottle in a mock toast.

"The power of sexual healing," he praises.

Stan snorts. "I've gotta start getting sexual healing from people who aren't Dylan, then," he says. Butters cocks his eyebrow, and Stan clarifies, "The kid with the red in his hair."

"Oh," Butters gives a long sigh. "Yeah, I don't imagine he's good for much of anything… except maybe tellin' you that you suck dick like a conformist asshole."

Stan laughs and nuzzles against Butters' shoulder.

"Just… don't tell any of the guys," he says. "I know you said you wouldn't, but. I guess I'm, like, not ready for them to know, you know? I'm kinda not looking forward to Kyle's opinion about it. And don't get me started on Kenny."

Butters' pulse quickens slightly at that, but he gets over it quickly and nods.

"'course not," he offers a smile. Stan smiles back briefly before he pulls him into a kiss. It's sort of sweet, the way Stan's tongue twines lazily with Butters' as they both just sit there, contented. When they pull back, Butters fluffs up the damp fringe on Stan's forehead and reminds him, "Kyle's your best friend, though. And he doesn't care about that kinda thing. Neither does Kenny."

"I know," Stan shrugs. "I'll tell them eventually. But I kind of have no idea what my sexuality is doing right now and I just want it to, like, settle before I say anything."

Butters hums and drapes an arm around his broad shoulders. He's hot and sticky, and he smells sharp and musky and _so goddamned good_. He grins stupidly and says, "Wherever you land, just tell me we can do that again."

Stan chuckles and kisses him on the jaw, "Definitely."

Maybe it will be just the two of them then.


End file.
